


Paint me in Red

by snapdragonpop007



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Barry Allen Works For The SCPD, Because why the fuck not?, He came to Starling to escape his problems not get more, It's still Starling City in my world, Multi, Oliver is a serial killer, Oliver is an incredibly unreliable narrator, Oliver is super possessive and obsessive, Poor Barry, This is not a healthy relationship by any means
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapdragonpop007/pseuds/snapdragonpop007
Summary: Oliver Queen is the beloved mayor of Starling City during the time of the city's first serial killer in over forty years.Barry Allen is a newly graduated CSI, appointed to the 'Arrow' case after the second body dropped from a fire escape with an arrow in its neck.





	1. Chapter 1

He had missed the first time, and now the body had an ugly wound on the shoulder to go with the arrow cleanly shot in the neck. Oliver placed his foot on the shoulder, careful to avoid the blood that had spilled when the man had tried to pull the arrow out. He didn’t need to track it anywhere, and he certainly didn’t need to bring it into his house. Blood wasn’t easy to clean. He pulled the extra arrow out with more force than necessary; the cleanness of the kill was already ruined. He saw no need to be careful anymore, and quite frankly the body disgusted him. Blood squirted weakly and the flesh tore ragged as the arrow came free with a squelch, and he quickly moved his foot off the body, inspecting his boot for any damage.

Shoulders, Oliver decided, bleed too much.

Seeing no damage done to his boots, he turned his attention to the arrow in his hand with a scowl. He couldn’t just leave it here, and he couldn’t just dump it. He supposed he could just take it home, burn it in the fireplace. That way he wouldn’t have to look at it. Yes, that seemed like the best course of action. God, just holding it made him want to gag.

Oliver turned back to the body, narrowing his eyes. It was ugly, messy. He didn’t want _that_ associated with his name, his cleanness. He knelt down, roughly grabbed the quickly cooling face, and yanked the arrow out.

He missed the spatter of blood that came. It landed somewhere on the cement-or maybe it was the ally wall-behind him with a loud spatter. He didn’t bother to check. He let go, and the head fell with a dull thud. The neck was shredded, blood was going everywhere.

Oliver didn’t like the way it looked. He wanted it gone.

He grabbed onto the rung of the fire escape with one hand, hoisting himself up. He scaled it rather quickly, and he took off at a light stroll across the building rooftops. The buildings were close enough in the slums where he didn’t need to have a running start to jump rooftop to rooftop. 

Eventually he made it to the lawn of his house. He went in through one of the windows-- just to be safe-- and quickly tossed the arrows into the fire.

He relished the sound of the wood of the shafts cracking.

Oliver could admit that his mind had been elsewhere. He should have waited for a few days, just until he could lean to function with having _him_ on his mind constantly. But God, he had needed to see his arrow sink into something. 

Eventually Oliver moved, banishing his thoughts away as he changed into his running clothes. He inspected his face and neck for any specks of blood and upon finding none silently went back out from his window. He took off at a light jog through the yard, and when he was back out on the streets he took out his phone as he took off at a sprint.

“911, what’s your emergency?” 

“I--I found a body--” Oliver huffed it out through his breaths. 

There was silence on the other end, and then -- “Sir, where are you?” 

Oliver rattled off the street he had left the dead man at, pounding across a street as the ‘don’t walk’ sign flashed. 

“Is there anyone else with you?”

“No.” 

Oliver reached the alley just as the operator told him to stay on the line. He stood a distance back--to make it look more believable--holding the phone tightly to his ear. He answered the questions that the operator asked, and when the sirens finally came into his range of hearing he hung up in the middle of her sentence.

He was tired of listening to her. 

“Mr. Queen--”

“Detective Lance--” Oliver rushed to him, keeping his voice frantic. “I was just jogging, and--” 

Oliver thought he did a fairly decent acting job, if Detective Lance’s sympathetic look was anything to go buy. 

“Come with me.” Detective Lance lead him out of the alley. They passed _him_ , and Oliver watched as he knelt by the body, poking and prodding and he worried the bottom of his lip in thought. He looked up as another one of the CSI came to snap pictures, briefly making eye contact with Oliver. He gave him a sheepish smile, and Oliver’s heart skipped a beat before Detective Lance’s voice pulled him back. 

“It doesn't look like this is our killer.” He looked back to where Oliver was looking. The boy--really, he wasn’t anything _but_ a boy--flushed as Detective Lance raised an eyebrow. He ducked back down, fingers ghosting over the wounds in the body's neck. 

Oliver had a brief thought of what those fingers would feel like on his neck.

“That’s good.” He gave a small smile of relief. It was strained, but Detective Lance didn’t notice. 

“Why don’t you go home Oliver, get some sleep.” Detective Lance placed a hand on his shoulder. “The media is gonna be on your ass tomorrow.” 

“You sure?” Oliver really didn’t want to leave now that _he_ was here. 

Detective Lance nodded. “This is our job, not yours.” 

Oliver wanted to yell at him. This wasn’t a job, it was a game that they were loosing terribly, but--

He cast one last glance back. The body was covered as he moved onto the blood stains. 

“Alright.” 

Detective Lance called an officer over, and Oliver found himself ushered into the back of a police car. He gave the officer a friendly smile, and he found himself being returned to his empty house without a single suspicion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating on a sched

Barry dodged a running police officer, lurching forward to keep the stacks of files in his arms from falling. He huffed at the officers retreating back, and then bumped into someone else as he turned around.

“Sorry--I'm sorr--”

“Bar,” Laurel's head poked around the files. “It's just me.”

“Sorry.” Barry repeated lamely.

Laurel rolled her eyes. She took half of the stack from Barry, falling into step besides him as they walked to the lab. 

“It's rather busy.” She remarked, shoving open the door with her hip.

“The mayor's coming to the station.” Barry dropped the stack with a satisfying thump. “He's gotta talk to your dad, then give a press conference.” 

“What the hell does Oliver need to see dad for?”

“He's the one who found the body.” Barry swiped the top file, flipping through the photos of the dead man. The wounds had been pretty shredded, but Barry still knew an arrow puncture mark when he saw one. He had been looking at them for months, after all. Barry did find it strange that the killer would break his cooling off period after only three kills, but then again it might not even be him. 

Barry seriously doubted it though. 

“What are you doing here?” Barry finally thought to ask after a long silence.

“I had to meet with a client.” Laurel leaned against the desk, frowning at a half finished cup of coffee that looked like it was starting to mold. “And I'd thought I'd visit you to make sure you're taking care of yourself.” 

“I'm taking care of myself.” Barry huffed.

Laurel arched an eyebrow. 

“I'm--taking care of myself enough to not drop dead.” 

Laurel frowned. “Barry Allen, you and I are going to get food now.”

“But I have--” Barry yelped as Laurel yanked his arm, dragging him to the still open door. “Laurel--”

“Your science will still be here.” 

Laurel snagged her purse and tugged him into the hall, coming to an abrupt stop almost as soon as she did. Barry smashed his shoulder into the door frame, and he huffed and pushed his way to Laurels side. He was greeted with a mass of police officers and reporters, with Oliver Queen standing in the middle of it. 

“--and I will be working with the SCPD on both cases as much as I can.” Oliver gave a charming smile, and Barry would like to pretend that his heart didn't skip a beat.

The reporters all started yelling at once, and Oliver looked a little overwhelmed. Detective Lance herded the reporters back while Oliver slipped away. Laurel snagged him as he passed, pulling both him and Barry back into the lab. Barry gave her a glare, and Laurel just smiled before closing the door, placing her purse back on the hook. 

“Thank you.” He gave a breathless little smile, and Barry looked away. 

It wasn't that he liked him. Barry didn’t hate him either, but he was weak to blond hair and blue eyes and if Oliver were to ask Barry on a date or for a quick fuck he probably wouldn't say no. Barry glared at Laurel to reiterate his point, but she wasn't paying attention to him. He huffed, and then went back to the file he had been going over. 

He wasn't paying attention to their conversation--he heard something along the lines of “take us out to lunch”--but he ignored it in favor of pulling out the other files on the Arrow’s kills. It seemed so odd to Barry that he would break his month and a half cooling off period a week early, but it also seemed odd that this new body wasn't an Arrow kill. Yeah, it was way too messy and not out in the open, but that _was_ an arrow wound. A copycat wouldn't be that sloppy--

“Bar,” Laurel snapped her fingers, jolting Barry out of his thoughts. She was frowning, and Barry noticed she had her purse on again, while Oliver was back over by the door. “Were you even paying attention?” 

“...no.” 

Barry dodged the soft punch she threw. 

“Oliver's taking us out to lunch.” 

Barry wanted to argue. But he knew if he did it wouldn't do anything.

“Fine.” 

Barry snapped the file shut. Laurel watched him as he placed it back on the desk, and he snagged his keys and wallet. He brushed past Oliver, who gave him a gentle smile and let his hand brush against Barry’s leg. Barry flushed, and he quickly went out the door. 

oOo

Oliver didn't like Laurel. She got on his nerves much too quickly, and he wouldn't ever have agreed to take her out to lunch if Barry wasn't coming with them. 

But as it was, Barry was doing his best to ignore him. 

His pretty green eyes were firmly fixed on the table. He only gave one word answers to Oliver’s questions. He tried to hold eye contact with the CSI, but he would always look away as soon as their eyes met. But Laurel-- he was giving his full attention to Laurel.

Oliver wanted to strangle her. 

“So, who was the client you were meeting with?” Oliver asked. Barry turned to look at him, and Oliver felt a little thrill go through him. “I haven't heard of any new cases.”

“It was a hit and run. No one was seriously hurt, but they're pressing charges and I don't blame them.” Oliver tried to look interested. “The guy didn't show today, but I still have to defend him.” 

She huffed while Barry winced in sympathy. 

“Sorry.” Oliver wasn't entirely sure what to say. But it must have sounded sincere enough for Laurel to wave her hand telling him it's not the worst she could do. 

It was then that her phone rang. Oliver kept his eyes on her--no matter how much he wanted to glance at Barry--and a moment later she hung up.

“I have to head back.” She put her phone back in her purse, giving an apologetic smile. “New case.” 

Barry stood to let her out. “I should probably head back too--”

“Stay for a bit.” The words were out of Oliver’s mouth before he could stop them. “You need to eat more than just a couple fries Barry.” 

“I'm--”

“Bar,” Laurel gently pushed him back into the booth. “Stay. Eat.” 

Barry huffed, but he did as he was told. Laurel smiled and then left with a quick goodbye. 

Oliver watched her go. Relieve flooded through him when she left the little diner, the bell chiming after her as the door closed. He could talk to Barry now, he could--

Well, he didn't think he would get that far today. 

“Do you forget to eat often?”

Barry looked up. They finally made eye contact, but Barry broke it a few seconds later. 

Oliver had to stop himself from taking Barry’s face in his hands and forcing him to look at him. Could he not see how much--

No, of course he couldn’t. 

“I--yeah.” Barry answered slowly and softly. “I just get so caught up in my work that I just--” he flushed, and looked back down to his food. He bit into a fry and quickly chewed.

Oliver gave a small smile. “I don’t like seeing you not taking care of yourself Barry.”

Barry blinked, but brushed the comment off.

Oliver let him finish in silence, taking the time to study the younger, as he rarely ever had the time to be this close to him. He took in the green eyes he had memorized so early on, he wondered how soft his unruly brown hair must be, he counted the freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose, he contemplated kissing those pink lips. But then the check came, and Oliver had to tear his gaze away to hand the waitress his card with a happy smile. 

“I should really be getting back.” Barry stood when the waitress came back. Oliver was quick to follow him.

“I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh, no--”

“We’re going the same place.” Oliver didn’t understand. Barry didn’t know, but he hadn’t done anything to make him want to leave Oliver--he didn’t, right? 

“Fine.” Barry tried to brush past him, but Oliver caught right up. He kept pace with Barry as they walked the first block, and he kept pace with him when Barry slowed down on the second. He gave a weak excuse to Oliver, and he was almost mad, but--

God, how could he ever be mad at Barry? 

The started talking then, and Oliver didn’t want to leave when they finally reached the station. He was finally getting somewhere after months of waiting and longing and he couldn’t just leave--

“Thanks for the food.” Barry’s voice broke through Oliver’s thoughts. They had made it up to Barry’s lab, and he was smiling at Oliver and Oliver couldn’t just--

Oliver pushed him into the lab and against the wall, lips eagerly finding Barry’s. Barry squeaked, and Oliver was delighted when Barry kissed back. But then Barry was shoving him back and slamming a door in his face. Oliver blinked slowly, his fingers running over his lips as he stared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating on a scheduled. What a concept. 
> 
> maybe i should try it.


	3. Chapter 3

Barry fell to the floor, his cheeks burning and his eyes wide. His fingers flitted to his lips, and he ran them over the skin before diving to his phone. He had dropped it when Oliver kissed him, and after a quick damage inspection he thumbed through his contacts.

His shaking thumb hovered over Iris’s name, and then he dropped his phone again.

What the hell would he even say after weeks of no contact? ‘Hey, remember how I've been going on about how hot Oliver queen is before I left? Yeah, he kissed me.’ Iris would kill him if the first thing he said was that. 

Barry took a shaky breath, digging his fingers into his scalp. 

Oliver Queen had kissed him.

“Oh God--” Barry found his hands flying to his phone again, and before he could stop himself the phone was ringing and Iris picked up after the first ring. 

“Barry Allen what the hell--?” Barry winced as Iris started chewing him out, not even bothering to beat around the bush. “It’s been weeks and you haven't answered our calls or texts, hell, you haven't even bothered to send a ‘Good Morning’ text! Barry, we’ve been worried sick--”

“I know--” Barry swallowed. It felt good to hear her voice again, even if she was yelling at him. “I've just--the case I'm on--”

“You're working the Arrow case.” 

It wasn't a question. 

“Yeah.”

“Barry, that's--” he could hear Iris take a deep breath. “You went to Starling for this?”

“No!” Barry shouted. “No, Iris that's not--I needed to get away. I couldn't stay in Central anymore--”

He fell silent. 

Barry had left Central City for a lot of reasons. His bad breakup with Patty, his father's case finally closing for good--sentenced to life without parole, his fight with Joe--he had never meant to leave Iris hanging with no word, but it had felt so good to step into a city where no one knew him.

He supposed he had forgotten about his life back there.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, bringing his knees to his chest. 

“Barry Allen don’t you dare be sorry.” Iris’s voice was sharp, but it softened soon after. “None of that was your fault.” 

Barry nodded, and all the sadness and pain he had buried came back and the first tears rolled down his cheeks and he knew that Iris could tell that he was crying by her frantic ‘Are you okay?’ and Barry just--

“I miss you.” He rubbed his eyes as more tears fell, and he sucked in a breath as his throat closed. “But I don’t--I can’t go home. I’m not ready to see Joe and I--”

“Bar,” Irir cut through his rambles, and Barry wanted so badly to hug her. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be mad. You’re allowed to take time to heal. God know’s I’m still mad at dad.” 

Barry hiccuped and nodded, and then Iris started to talk softly about her engagement party and wedding details and stories about Eddie. Barry tuned most of it out and Iris knew he would. She knew that Barry needed time to let everything out, because she knew that Barry kept everything bottled up until he couldn’t anymore. Barryd didn’t know how long she talked, but eventually the sniffles stopped and the tears stopped coming and he could breath again.

“You better now?”

“Yeah.” He took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.” 

“It was going to happen sooner or later. I’m just glad it was with me.” He could almost see Iris’s smile. “Now, what's the real reason you called?” 

Barry laughed at that. “What makes you think I didn’t call to cry to you?”

He knew things weren't fixed just like that. But they were a lot better off than he had thought. 

“Because that’s not what you do.” Iris huffed. “Spill.” 

“Oliver Queen kissed me.” 

Iris was silent.

“What?” 

“Oliver Queen.” Barry repeated. “Kissed me.” 

“What the fuck Barry.”

“I’m just as confused as you are.” Barry spared a glance at the door. “It was nice--wonderful, actually--but nothing lead up to it.”

“Don’t tell me Oliver Queen just spontaneously kissed you, Barry.” Barry was honestly glad that Iris could put everything aside for things like this. “Oliver Queen does not just spontaneously kiss someone.”

“Yeah--”

“What were you doing before?” Iris cut him off. 

“We were at lunch--”

“You were on a date?!” Iris was getting way too excited about this.

“No! He took me and Laurel--the district attorney,” he added before Iris could ask. “She and Oliver are friends. We went out to lunch and Laurel left halfway through.”

“So it was just you and Oliver?” Iris asked. Barry gave a soft ‘yeah’. “That’s grounds for a date, Barry.” 

Barry blushed. 

“I leave you alone and you get together with the freaking mayor of Starling.” 

“We are not together--” Barry started to protest, but then he fell silent. He had never really thought of him and Oliver as a thing. He let himself admire the man and his stupidly good looks, but he had just always assumed that nothing would come of it. Oliver only knew him through Laurel, and he could tell that their brief relationship in high school had never really went away. 

She told him about in constantly, always asking if he thought they would get back together. 

“You want to be though.” 

Barry sighed. “Nothing’s gonna happen. We’re too...different.” 

“If he lets you go I will come down there and beat some sense into him.” Iris huffed. “You are wonderful Barry, and he should consider himself lucky to have you.”

“We’re not even together.” Barry protested, but before Iris could retort he heard a clatter through the phone.

“Barry I--it’s dad.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.” Barry spit the words out, his happy mood sinking. 

“I know. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Iris covered the speaker and yelled something before talking to him again. “You will answer, right?”

“Yeah.” Barry smiled. “I’m sorry for not--”

“It’s okay.” he could almost see her smile. “I’m not mad. I was just worried.”

“I’m fine.” Barry answered. “Promise.”

“Bye Bar.” And then she hung up.

Barry pulled his phone away, pressing the end call button. It had felt good to talk to her, and Barry wanted to hit himself for not calling sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what did Joe do? stay tuned to find out
> 
> these chapters are gonna be kinda short for aesthetic purposes 
> 
> sorry for any spelling and or grammar errors. It's late here and I really wanted to get his out for you guys


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver realized with a jolt that kissing Barry Allen had been a very stupid thing to do. 

He had left the station without realizing it, walked home without realizing it, said hello to Thea and went to his office without realizing it. He had been so...happy. 

Oliver placed the tips of his fingers on his lips. He could still feel the warmth that Barry had left there. He pressed a little harder, wanting to feel more.

He wondered if he should go back to the station. Barry had kissed him back. That had to mean something. Even if Barry didn't know--no, he had to know. He had felt _something_. He had felt what Oliver felt. And God did Oliver want to feel that again. He needed to wake up to that, he needed to have that with him every moment of every day--

His hand had wandered to his belt without him realizing it. 

Oliver jerked his hand back, a scowl tugging at his lips. It wouldn't be the first time he had touched himself to the thought of Barry, but Oliver had crossed a line that he couldn't go back over when he pressed their lips together. He craved--needed-- the real thing and Barry had seemed so willing to give, had returned Oliver's affection like Oliver hoped he would.

He fingers went back to his lips. He drug his thumb along his bottom lip, his tongue tasting a trace of chapstick that Barry must have put on earlier in the day. 

His hand fell to his thigh. He gave it a squeeze--for what he didn't know--and then stood. His chair scraped against the floor. He didn't spare it a glance as he went to the hall and into his room. He slammed the door, ignoring Thea’s concerned call from the library as he picked the clothes he had worn last night off the floor. He chided himself on leaving them there, and the more he thought about it the more anger he felt towards himself. He took a deep breath as he shed his suit. There was no use dwelling on it. He had made sure no one would know this newest body was his work. A few articles of clothing on the floor wouldn’t change that. 

And still Oliver scowled at the shirt in his hand, throwing it in the basket he put his suit in. He dug another shirt out of the closet--a worn gray material--and yanked it roughly over his head. He found his running shoes, and after slipping into them he went back into the hall.

“You okay Ollie?”

Oliver glanced at Thea.

“I'm fine.” He gave her a forced smile. “I just need to clear my head.” 

He didn't stay around long enough to see her nod and worry at her lip, but he did hear her ‘be careful’. Oliver didn't bother to say anything. He went down the stairs and left. 

He was surprised to find it much later than what he had thought. 

The sun looked just an hour from setting, and a cool breeze had taken to the warm spring air. Oliver let out an involuntary shiver and then set off at a brisk jog. He had no real destination, planning on taking his usual route, but he found himself heading to the SCPD’s main precinct. He narrowed his eyes when he reached the large concrete building, but he slowed until he came to a stand still.

The police station was never a place for mixed feelings. He loved seeing his work posted up on whiteboards and boxes of papers and pictures of the bodies he had cut up. He loved seeing the officers scramble about. He loved seeing Barry. 

What he hated was the thrill that went up his spine every time he was pulled into an empty room, every time he was given a plastic cup to drink from. He hated when Detective Lance would ask him what he remembered seeing. He hated the press asking him if they were safe from this mad man. 

Of course they weren't. No one was. They were stupid to not see it, to believe the lies Oliver gave them. 

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, puffing out short breaths and cringing at the sticky feel of his skin from the barely there sweat. He ran his hand up his arm, pulling it away just as quickly. He wiped it on his pant leg, and took one last look at the building before turning around.

Barry wasn't going to be here--really, why else would Oliver be here--and he didn't want to stand out there any longer than necessary. 

“Oliver?” 

Oliver's heart leaped to his throat at that soft, sweet voice. 

Barry was standing not even five feet away from him, cheeks tinted pink from the wind and his hair a beautiful windswept mess. A bag was slung over his shoulder and a phone in his hand, and he was quickly shoving his phone in his bag in his haste to get closer to Oliver. 

Oliver sucked in a breath, blindly reaching out to hold him, to keep Barry _right here_.

“What are you doing here?” 

“Barry, hello.” 

A smile spread across his rosy lips, and Oliver had to stop himself from kissing it off. 

“Hi.” Barry's smile turned shy, and he looked so perfect and--

Sad.

“Did something happen?” 

Barry looked startled.

“No, I just--got in an argument with my--it's nothing.” He finished rather awkwardly, and Oliver wanted to drive a knife into whoever made the light leave his Barry's eyes. “Can--can we talk?” 

_Of course. Anything. Anything for you._

“Sure.” 

Barry took his hand and led him up the stairs. They settled into a corner, and Oliver held tight to Barry's hand. He wanted to memorize every little detail, to know it as well as he knew his own. 

“Look, I um--” Barry wasn't looking at him. “I like you, and I really hope you didn't just kiss me because you could--”

Oliver stopped him with a kiss, because Barry knew. Barry let out a surprised squeak, but then his eyes slowly closed as he threaded his fingers with Olivers and trailed his other hand along Oliver's side. Oliver's hand went to Barry’s cheek, and his ran his thumb along his cheekbone in a slow, loving manor. Barry leaned into the touch. 

Oliver kept his hand on Barry's cheek even when he pulled away, lips still parted, cheeks flushed pink and pretty green eyes slowly fluttering open. Oliver leaned down to kiss him again, but Barry turned his head and Oliver’s lips landed on his cheek. 

“You're not just--”

“No, never.” 

God he was--

“I really, really like you, Barry Allen.” Oliver puffed out against his neck. “I would start wars for you.” He mumbled it against the pale skin of his throat. “I would do anything for you.” He spoke in hushed tones on his flushed cheek. “I would burn the world down if you asked.” He whispered it against his lips. 

Barry didn't seem to hear any of it. 

He opened his mouth to Oliver, letting out a happy sigh as Oliver greedily accepted the invitation. Barry’s fingers tangled in Oliver's hair, pulling him closer. Oliver groaned, shifting his hips against Barry’s as he held them in a bruising grip. A soft moan left Barry’s lips, and Oliver needed to hear it again--

Barry pulled away with kiss swollen lips, his hands moving to grip Oliver’s before they could get any further. 

“Can we-maybe go on a few dates before--?” 

“Of course,” Oliver was quick to agree, chasing Barry’s lips and already thinking of places he could take him. “Anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having too much fun writing in Olivers POV. 
> 
> If you think this is moving to fast then you are wrong. I promise it'll make a bit more sense with Barry's POV. Oliver is just...Oliver. 
> 
> Sorry this one is a bit shorter. Not really. I've had exams all week. I'm exhausted


	5. Chapter 5

“What are you so smiley about?”

Barry startled, dropping a few papers onto the floor as his arm shot across his desk, his head dropping before he caught himself. Laurel swooped down to pick them up, and she handed them back to a flushed Barry.

“It's--it's nothing important.”

Barry took the papers, tapping them on the desk and straightening them out before setting them back on top of all his other papers. 

He had kissed Oliver against the wall for a little while longer last night, and then he was walking Barry home. They talked a little more and kissed a whole lot more, and then Oliver had put his number in Barry's phone and gave him one last kiss before taking off. He hadn't even set his bag down in the foyer before Oliver sent him a text.

_I never did tell you how pretty you looked today._

Barry had flushed, squeaked, and typed out-- _you’re being too nice._

Oliver had responded not even a minute later.

_I'm serious. You're beautiful Barry Allen._

Barry was smiling so much his cheeks hurt.

“Yeah, that smile sure looks like nothing.” Laurel leaned against the desk, crossing her arms and tilting her head. “Spill.” 

Barry didn't know what to say. Laurel was still hoping she and Oliver would get back together, always swearing to Barry that something was still there. He didn't want to tell her that Oliver had kissed _him_ , that Oliver liked _him._ There was a reason he never told Laurel of his attraction to him, of the small crush he had tried to hard to deny for her sake, why he had told Felicity--his friend and neighbor-- to keep it a secret from her. He didn't know if he could tell her, not now. 

“I--”

“Barry,” Oliver poked his head in the door. “Ready?”

Barry nodded. He was smiling again, but he found that he didn't care much. Oliver had sent him a text this morning asking if he wanted to go to lunch again, and Barry had happily agreed as he fell into his chair at the station. 

“I'll tell you later.” Barry brushed past Laurel, not daring to make eye contact with her. A small part of him hoped that she saw the way Oliver locked their hands together as soon as he was out the door. 

The other part of him immediately felt bad.

“Laurel still likes you.” Barry spoke softly as the left the station. 

“I know.” Oliver squeezed his hand. “Honestly, it's annoying.” 

That hadn't been the answer Barry was expecting. He looked up at Oliver as he tugged him a little closer. His face was blank, and Barry couldn't--he had no idea what he was thinking. 

“We never had anything.” He looked back at Barry, and then he was smiling; bright and happy. “I like you, Barry. I've liked you for a long time.” 

Barry was smiling again. He let himself be tugged into Oliver’s side as they walked into the little diner they had been in yesterday. The staff looked a little surprised to see them again, but Oliver just gave them smiles, pressing his hand to the small of Barry’s back and leading him to the booth they'd been in yesterday. They sat across from one another, but Oliver kept their legs pressed together. And when there legs weren't together their hands were. They were always touching, and it made Barry feel content--

\--wanted. 

They fought a little over who would pay, but Oliver won out in the end, taking the check before Barry could reach it. 

“You paid for me yesterday.” Barry started to protest, but Oliver just laced their fingers together, effectively silencing him. 

“I like spending money on you, Barry.” Oliver handed his card to the waiter. Barry ducked his head down, a soft sigh leaving his lips as fingers carded through his hair. They stayed like that for a little while, and then the check came back and Barry lifted his head, smiling at Oliver--who had been smiling at him. 

“I should probably be getting back.” He mumbled.

Oliver seemed to deflate a little, but he didn't protest. They took their time getting back to the station. Barry was disappointed to let go of the warmth that Oliver’s hand provided and he was even more disappointed to give up the softness of Oliver’s lips on his. 

“You're perfect, Barry Allen.” Oliver whispered it in his ear, then gave him one more kiss before slowly slipping away. He was stuck with Detective Lance for the rest of the day, and Barry badly wanted to go with him. 

It hadn't even been a day, and he was already so far gone for this man. 

“What was that?”

Barry turned around, his hand going stiff on the trim of the doorway. 

“Laurel--?”

She looked angry. Sad. Something that Barry didn't want to name. 

“You and Oliver are--”

“Laurel--”

“Barry, you knew I--” she didn't finish. She turned around and walked away. 

His hand went slack and dropped to his side. Barry watched her go. When she was out of his sight he went back into his lab, almost missing his chair as he sat down. 

He didn't even know if there was a _them,_ and Laurel had just--he couldn't help but feel angry. This thing between Oliver was so--so new, and he wanted it. He wanted it so bad, because Oliver made him feel--he felt so many things. Barry put his head between his hands. He should have thought of Laurel’s feelings before diving right into this. It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't--but shouldn't Barry get to be happy too? Joe and Iris always told him he deserved to be happy, but Joe wasn't the best person to tell him that--but Iris was. Iris believed Barry should be happy, and Oliver made Barry happy. He didn't want to lose Laurel though--

“Barry?”

Barry looked up. One of the other forensics members was standing at his desk with a stack of files.

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright?” She looked concerned as she set the files down on his desk.

“Yeah, I--I'm not feeling well.” Barry pushed back from the desk. “I think I'm gonna--gonna go home.” 

He grabbed his phone and walked out of the lab. He passed Oliver-- _Laurel was with him_ \--and Oliver went to step closer to Barry but Laurel yanked him back. Barry quickened his pace and when he was out of the station he was gasping in air, he was shaking, his thoughts were going so fast. His back hit the wall and he slid to the ground, putting his head between his legs as he sucked in shallow breaths. 

Was he--was this a panic attack? 

The last one he had was with Iris, a few weeks after the last foster home. 

His hands were fumbling for his phone but he never made the call. He stared at the blank screen, Iris’s name staring back. Then his phone fell to the concrete and Barry tangled is fingers in his hair, trying so hard to just _breath._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A date, jealously and foster homes, oh my!


	6. Chapter 6

Oliver stalked through the alleyways, his bow held tightly in his shaking hand, hood pulled low over his face. He kicked a trash can lid out of the way, the clanging of the metal still echoing after him as he rounded a corner. 

It had been a week and Barry was still--

Oliver scowled, this time kicking the entire trash can, bags spilling everywhere. 

All of this was Laurel’s fault. He finally had Barry, they were finally _together_ and Laurel had fucked everything up because she couldn't damn well leave them alone. 

She had found him as he was leaving her father's office. She had started going off about something that Oliver hadn't cared enough to listen to, and when he tried to go to Barry as he rushed through the halls she yanked him back. He had gotten angry then, and he snapped something at her, twisting her wrist to free his arm--twisting it far enough to hear a crack-- before walking away. 

He had found Barry sitting outside, head between his knees, chest hardly moving as he took quick shallow breaths. Oliver had fallen next to him, knees scraping against cement, gently placing his hands on warm cheeks and lifting Barry's head till he was looking at him. Barry had flinched at the touch, and it hurt so see it, but Oliver didn't let go. He didn't let go until Barry’s breathing had evened out, and when he asked if he was alright Barry had mumbled something that sounded like ‘can we talk later?’ and then got up and left. 

Olivers foot connected with a wall this time.

His fingers itched to knock an arrow back. 

His mind was screaming at him to _not break schedule again_ and it may have only been a week since he last shot an arrow through someone but _you can't break schedule you can't break schedule you can't break schedule not again_ \--

Oliver clenched his jaw and hoisted himself up onto a rusty fire escape. The metal groaned under his weight, and Oliver quickly made his way to the roof before it could make anymore noise. 

He hadn’t meant to break his carefully laid schedule. Every three months, that was his rule. But Barry had suddenly come crashing into his life and Oliver wasn’t allowed to gaze from afar anymore, he wasn’t allowed to plan, he had to act now before Barry left and Oliver hadn’t been able to handle it--

The SCPD had most of its officers out tonight. He could see a lot of them from his perch on city hall, both in uniform and out. Oliver was tempted to shoot one of them--ruffle their feathers a little--but it didn't feel right. Someone was going to die tonight, but it wasn't going to be a member of Starlings finest. Oliver then turned his gaze to the civilians, but that didn't settle right with him either. He had already shot four of them, it wouldn't be as satisfying tonight, wouldn’t make his anger and needs fully dissipate. He gave the crowd one last glance before going back down the fire escape. 

He went a few more blocks before scaling up another one. This building was in significantly worse shape than the last, but it was also close enough to other run down buildings that Oliver didn't have to keep going up and down fire escapes. He wandered around for a while until he found himself on the roof of an in progress AA meeting. He could hear the voices and sob stories from all the day out here, and Oliver hated it. 

His father had brought him here so many times, because _a child shouldn't be left alone, Oliver_. It didn't matter how many times Oliver screamed that his mother and sister were still home, _I’m not alone dad_. He was brought to these meetings as a child and he when he came out he wasn't sure he ever had been one. 

Oliver had smiled when he sank a knife in his father's heart, his glass of brandy falling to the floor and soaking in the blood on Oliver's socks.

A door creaked open, drawing Oliver from his memories. He could smell the cigarette smoke and he crinkled his nose, turning around to see who would blow that smoke towards him. When he saw the brown hair and doe eyes and the much too feminine figure the arrow was out of his hands before he could really see who it was. A gargled choke left her long, pale throat, and then she fell back down the stairs, the arrow in her neck snapping on the railing, the cigarette falling with her. 

He left after the last thud and the first scream, satisfaction and relief washing over him. He made it to the last flight of the fire escape when the police sirens reached his ears. Oliver quickened his pace, and then he was climbing in his window, shedding his clothes and dropping his bow. He fell onto his bed, thoughts wandering to Barry, hand inching down his thighs, and a few seconds later he finally put a name to the face he had shot. A rush of pure ecstasy went through him, a grin spreading across his lips, a laugh threatening to bubble out of his throat. 

Oliver hadn't meant to shoot her, but--

Everything would go back to normal now. It had to. She wasn't there to kept a rift between him and Barry anymore, to keep making Barry feel guilty, to keep pestering Oliver about things that weren't going to happen--she wasn't there to do _anything_ anymore. 

She had been a nuisance, and her death would fix everything she broke. 

What a poetic way to die. 

A soft song filled the room, a song Oliver had picked just for Barry, and his hand shot out towards his phone. 

“Bar--”

“Laurel’s dead.” Barry’s voice was hard, unwavering. 

Oliver stayed silent.

He--he wasn’t happy?

“The Arrow shot her--” his voice cracked, and Oliver heard a choked sob. “She’s--she's dead--oh God--” 

Something fell and shattered in the background, and Oliver shot up. “I’m coming over.” 

Barry made a noise that sounded close to a scream, and then he hung up.

Oliver kept the phone pressed to his cheek long after the beeping of the dial tone stopped. He sat on his bed, fingers gripping the mattress, the glass of his phone starting to stick to his skin as he stared out the still open window. 

He didn't understand. Barry should be happy. At the very least he gave him another body to poke and prod at in his lab. Those things made Barry happy, didn't they? 

Oliver finally stood, dropping his phone to the bed as he threw on a sweater and sweatpants. 

She was gone. Barry didn't have to feel whatever he was feeling anymore, he didn't have to keep pushing Oliver away. 

_Why wasn't Barry happy?_

Oliver walked all the way to Barry's apartment. It was your average apartment in the middle of Starling, nothing special. Oliver had been in it once when Barry had been at work, and he didn't hesitate when he let himself in. 

The door wasn't even locked.

Barry was on the couch. A broken vase lay on the floor in a puddle of water and flower petals, his phone among the shattered clay. Spots of blood were on a few of the pieces and on the phone, and when Oliver looked back at Barry he saw the cuts and blood on his palms and fingers. He was over at Barry’s side a few moments later, taking his hands in his own, blood smearing across skin. 

He wouldn't lie and say that the sight wasn't arousing.

“Where do you keep your first aid kit?” 

Barry gestured vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. Oliver was reluctant to let go--after a week he was finally able to touch Barry again. He hadn't realized how touch starved he could become from that one day. But he let go, and after a few minutes of rummaging around he came back with the white kit. 

Barry held out his hands while Oliver cleaned and bandaged them, and when Oliver looked up and saw Barry’s red rimmed eyes, he decided the broken clay could wait to be cleaned. 

“She's dead, Oliver.”

“I know.” If his voice was a little harsh, Barry didn't seem to notice. He fell into Oliver's chest, heaving air into his lungs as tears slipped past his eyes. 

“She’s--” Barry choked on his words, fingers digging into Oliver’s skin, legs curling up to his chest, head dropping in the crook of Oliver’s neck. His tears were hot on Oliver’s skin. He dug his fingers in Barry’s hair, pulling a leith, shaking figure closer and closer, brushing tears away with the pad of his thumb. Barry heaved and sobbed, and Oliver gently rocked back and forth.

He understood the idea of comfort, how to give it. 

He didn’t understand why Barry _needed it_ \--

This wouldn't last long. Barry would realize that what Oliver did was the best thing for them, and everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is shorter, but I also feel like it's not? idk


	7. Chapter 7

Barry woke feeling groggy and warm and sticky and disgusting. His eyes itched, and he went to move his hand, only to find it pinned by the person keeping him warm. His hand was under Oliver’s head, not quite numb yet, but not quite awake either. 

He remembered crying. He remembered a lot of crying, and cutting his hands and calling Oliver and kissing him frantically because he made it stop hurting--

He remembered Oliver telling him everything was okay now as he kissed him and took him off the couch and to the bed as Barry drifted off into a horribly sleepless sleep. 

Barry lifted his free hand, laying it gently on Oliver’s cheek. He leaned into it, but didn't wake. 

There was a small part of him that glad Laurel was dead. He didn't have to feel this horrible, gut wrenching guilt every time he so much as looked at Oliver Queen. He wanted so badly to just be with him, to try and make this thing between them work, and he hated himself for thinking that way. Just because Laurel was dead didn't mean he could--

Was she even dead? 

Barry felt his breathing start to quicken. His fingertips dug into Oliver’s scalp, jarring the older man awake. Oliver's hands slid up Barry’s sides, one falling into the small of his back, the other to his cheek. Oliver pulled him close, and Barry breathed in the smell of cologne and something that was strictly Oliver, holding tight until his breathing evened out again.

“Bar…?”

“Did--did that--is she dead?” 

“Yes.” Barry's breathing quickened and Oliver gave him a painful squeeze. He almost welcomed the pain, but a small noise left his lips and Oliver immediately let go. 

“I should--I need to go in.” Barry slowly sat up, the sheets pooling to his lap. He was still wearing his clothes from last night. “They need someone to--”

“Barry, no.” Oliver pulled him back down. Barry tugged weakly, but didn't put up much of a fight. “You're not going anywhere today.” 

“I have to--”

“You don't have to do anything.” Barry melted back into him, to exhausted to really protest. “You don't have to do anything ever again.”

Oliver’s voice was melodic. It was soft and warm and soothing and everything Barry needed, and he found himself drifting back to sleep with Oliver’s heartbeat in his ears.

When he woke next Oliver was still by his side, cradling Barry's head against his chest as the mid afternoon sun streamed in through the windows. It laced his hair with gold, and Barry sleepily lifted a hand to drag through that pretty hair. Oliver caught his hand before it reached the gold strands, holding it in his own and pressing a soft kiss to his fingers. 

“Are you alright?”

Barry blinked slowly. He didn't feel sad, or angry or anything else he should be feeling. He felt--numb. 

“I--I don't know.” He was pulled closer, a kiss pressed to the inside of his wrist. “I should call Iris.”

Oliver stilled, his lips tugging into a frown as _something_ passed across his face. But then he smiled, twisting their fingers together before letting go. “I’ll be right here.”

Barry swung his legs off the bed and stood, leaving Oliver without a glance. His cell was still on the floor with the broken pottery and Barry scooped down to get it, wiping the dried blood off the screen with his thumb. He ignored his notifications and texts and unlocked his phone. It was still on the call screen with Oliver's number still typed in. 

Barry had sat on his couch for a long time last night, thumb hovering over the call button as tear drops fell onto the screen, trying to sort through his raging emotions and wondering why the only thought he really had was Oliver. 

He deleted Oliver’s number and punched in a number that took him a moment to recall. 

He hadn't even had Oliver’s number for a week, and he had no problem remembering it last night. 

“Hello?”

Barry’s breath hitched. He didn't know what to say, didn't know if he could say anything. “Iris--”

His voice cut off suddenly. 

“Bar, what's up?” 

She sounded so--so happy and Barry could hear something clinking in the background, could hear Eddie’s voice and Barry couldn't do this-- 

Barry hung up, the phone slipping through his hand and falling to the floor. It rang soon after, but Barry ignored it, walking back to the room with slow steps. Oliver was still there, still waiting for him. Barry fell into his open arms, letting himself get tugged back to Oliver’s side, leaning up into the kiss he offered before pulling away.

“I don't--” hand’s worked their way through his hair, coming back down to his cheeks, his neck, his chest. “I don’t know if I can--”

Barry wanted to wake up to Oliver next to him, wanted to hold his hand, wanted to kiss him--and maybe it was too early to to say things this that, but Barry wanted it so bad. Yet he couldn’t shake Laurel and her unrequited feelings for Oliver, and how she had made him promise to help her get back with him. 

“She would have wanted you to be happy.” 

“But not with you.” 

Oliver turned his eyes up to Barry’s, glazed over with a hazy lust. His hands kept moving lower until they were working at the zipper of his pants, and Barry arched in to the touch, his fingers dancing up Oliver’s back. 

“I’m not sure I care.” Oliver’s lips were ghosting over Barry’s neck. 

A small sigh left Barry’s lips as Oliver’s hand fell on his inner thigh. 

“I--” Barry meant to pull away, not move closer, lifting his hips just so. “I want--” 

He let out a small moan when Oliver’s hand drifted to where he wanted it so badly. 

“I want you.” 

“Then you can have me.” Oliver pulled Barry closer, his lips falling to his neck as Barry thrust his hips against Oliver's. “I’ll be yours, only yours. Just tell me Barry.” 

Barry clung to Oliver.

“I want you. I want you--I want this so bad. But I don't--”

“I don’t care what she wanted, Barry.” Oliver twisted his wrist, earning a sharp gasp from Barry. “I care what you want. And if this is what you want--”

He fell silent as Barry came with a shudder. He dropped his head onto the pillow, watching with sleepy eyes as Oliver licked the cum off his hand. He fell next to Barry, taking his cheeks in his hands and kissing him sloppily. Barry grimaced at the taste on Oliver’s lips, but he still chased after them when Oliver pulled away. He was flushed and panting slightly, and Barry found the whole scene incredibly enduring. 

“I’ll be yours--all yours.” 

Barry swallowed. “You’ll have to be patient with me.” 

“I’ll be anything for you.”

Oliver kissed him again, and Barry stopped fighting it and let go of his guilt and melted into Oliver. It felt so wonderful, and perfect and loving--

Barry had forgotten how much Oliver made him feel wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell how mad Oliver is that Barry keeps talking about Laurel


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a closed casket funeral. 

Oliver had taken an odd joy out of that. The wound from his arrow had been enough to keep the lid closed, had been enough to make her ugly enough that the world shouldn’t see her. But he also felt anger, because the wound had been ugly enough. He took such pride in how clean his cuts were--it shouldn’t have even been noticed through all the make up and the high collar dress Oliver knew Laurel was wearing.  
Maybe her father didn’t want the world to know how she had died. 

But that was stupid, because the world already did. 

“Oliver,” Barry’s voice was soft in his ear. He looked up, distaste flickering across his face. He had already played his mayor role, now it was time to play the grieving friend and dotting partner. 

“We’ll go this way.” Oliver steered Barry away from the reporters. 

They went down a dead end hall, and Barry fell to the floor when they reached the end. His fingers tangled in his hair, and his lips parted as he sucked air into his lungs. His suit was wrinkled, and Oliver had to stomp down the urge to smooth them out. 

“Are you alright?” Oliver sat next to him, dropping his hand on Barry’s shoulder instead. 

“Not really.” a choked up laugh left his throat. “I had to look at her body, Oliver. And now she’s--” 

Barry had been called in the day after to ID the body and perform the autopsy. Detective Lance hadn’t trusted anyone else to do it, and when Barry had come back to the apartment he had been a sweaty shaking mess. Oliver had pushed him into the bed, laying next to him and letting his hands wander over Barry’s skin. Soon he was sweaty and shaking for another reason, and Barry had fallen asleep with his hands still tangled in Oliver’s hair. 

“It’s over with Barry,” Oliver dropped his head on top of Barry’s, lacing their fingers together. “You don’t have to deal with it anymore.” 

A sob ripped it’s way out of Barry’s throat and Oliver narrowed his eyes, squeezing Barry’s hand tightly enough that he knew it would be painful. 

Why couldn’t Barry just get over it? 

Laurel had been nothing to them, had meant nothing. She was just--just a speck in Oliver and Barry’s world that had no purpose, no meaning to their lives, no nothing. She had just be there to waste space, to make Oliver’s life difficult--

“I need some air.” 

Barry ripped his hand from Oliver’s, walking as fast as he could to the exit of the funeral home. 

Oliver’s hand felt empty without Barry’s, but he let him go. 

His head smacked against the wall as he leaned back, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to calm down.

Barry would get over it. He just needed a few days, that’s all. 

Oliver sat there until Barry came back, then took his hand and lead him out of the funeral home. It was time to head back to Barry’s apartment. 

“Are we not--?”

“No.” Oliver didn't’ plan on going to the cemetery and throwing his handful of dirt into a six foot deep hole. “You’re exhausted, Barry. No one will blame you for wanting to go home.” 

Barry nodded slowly. He let Oliver pull him along, falling into his side as they got into the car. He carded his fingers through his hair, putting Barry into a fitful sleep as their driver took them back to the apartment. Oliver carried him inside and gently set him on the bed. He went about stripping Barry to his undershirt and boxers, folding everything as neatly as he could. He put in all back in the dresser and then turned to the foot of the bed. 

Barry Allen really was beautiful. 

Even in his devilish state Oliver could hardly find a fault to him. 

His pale skin was like alabaster, and all Oliver wanted to do was let his lips map it out. The dark circles under his eyes hadn’t become dark enough to become unflattering, and the purples and grays only seemed to enhance the green in his irises. His tangled hair only spurred Oliver’s constant want to run his fingers through the brown locks, to detangle all the knots that had gathered. 

Perhaps Oliver was just too enthralled, too in love with this man to find any faults. 

Barry stirred and Oliver quickly left. 

He was surprised to find a woman in the apartment.

“I’m--I’m sorry I just--let myself in--” she was stumbling over her words. “Hows--hows Barry doing?”

Oliver knew this was Felicity Smoak, Barry’s neighbor and friend. He knew that Barry liked her, had liked her too much at one point.

“He’s sleeping.” 

He wanted her gone.

“Right--I’ll just,” she swallowed. “I’ll come back later.” 

Oliver said nothing, only watching her as she left. 

When the door clicked Oliver turned back towards the kitchen with the intent of making Barry hot chocolate. He knew it was one of his favorite drinks, and he was hoping that it would help him get over whatever _this_ was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry its so short
> 
> I have been re-thinking my entire life im a little shook

**Author's Note:**

> This may have something to do with my binge reading Killing Stalking, and this may not. Who knows? 
> 
> I've had this idea for a while now, I only just started to type it out. And now here we are.
> 
> I promise chapters are gonna be longer. And ima try and update weekly.


End file.
